Tennessee Doo-Tour
by Moskevyu
Summary: Mysteries, Inc. investigates ghost sitings at an abandoned dam and Scrappy falls into an alternate timeline. Heads-up! Many OCs in later chapters along with crimes against canon. History. Mystery. Death. There's also guest character action, but the other shows don't appear in the category list so I couldn't save it as a crossover. Part Three up now!
1. Chapter 1

Characters appearing in this story were created by Hanna-Barbera/Ruby-Spears and are properties of Warner Brothers Animation. Exceptions to this are the ridiculous number of OCs and Mary Sues that appear in later chapters. This is me goofing around with Scrappy Doo and alternate timelines. I offer my apologies in advance for every crime against character and canon I commit herein. Enjoy!

**Tennessee Doo-Tour**

Fred let the Mystery Machine wander a little while taking in the scenery as he dropped South through Klamath National Park. The gang was a two day drive from home, parents, and catching up with friends in Crystal Cove. "There's a lot of history here."

"It's nice to see volunteers stepping up to restore the forest," Velma added. "Wildlife is flourishing. It'll be a few centuries to get the old growth trees back, though."

"I was thinking more in terms of the Native American history, but you're right."

"I was thinking in terms of fishing," Shaggy piped up. "Tis the season for trout and salmon!"

"Yuck," Scrappy groaned to himself.

"More fish for us," Shaggy chuckled. "We'll save you a salad."

Scrappy glanced up from his comic book. "Yuck with yuck filling."

Scooby laughed.

"We don't have time to fish, guys." Fred slowed and turned at an access road marked 'Klamath Municipal Power District - Modoc Valley Dam.' "We have another gig."

"Really, Fred," Shaggy groused. "How can you put some goofy dam over a night of grilled salmon?"

"Because it's potentially a night of Native American ghosts, Shaggy," Freds excitement was palpable. "Real ones!"  
"The abandoned Modoc Valley Dam has been haunted for years," A few keystrokes in Velma's tablet brought info to her screen, "But since decommissioning projects started, ghost sitings skyrocketed."

"Again, I ask how you can put that over a night of good eating?"

"It's important for the environment, Shaggy. The sooner the dam comes down, the sooner the rivers replenish. That should help your salmon, too."

"It doesn't help them into my stomach."

"You'll live."

"You say that every time."

Velma leaned in with a half-teasing flirt. "You never prove me wrong."

Scooby giggled at Shaggy's sudden discomfort.

With the Project Manager's blessing, Mysteries, Inc. put up motion-triggered cameras around places the ghosts are most often seen; the top of the dam and its Control Center. In an attempt to verify whether these are real ghosts, Fred and Daphne experimented with ectoplasm tracing equipment. Velma looked up details from the most recent sitings. Shaggy and Scooby set up a camp stove with provisions from the van while Scrappy did what he could to help the gang.

The sun dropped low into the hills. The waning light changed the water in the reservoir from greenish-blue to deep steely charcoal with shattered streaks of orange, pink, and red from the sky and setting sun. Despite being on an old dam, it was a beautiful campsite.

Velma poked her head out from the corridor to the powerhouse. "Hey, Gang," She motioned. "Come look at this."

"What's up?" Fred and Daphne got up from Scooby and Shaggy's cooking show to check out a potential clue.

"We're just getting to ze besta parta," Shaggy flourished a handful of uncooked spaghetti over a boiling pot as Scooby juggled tomatoes and cheese.

"In a minute Shaggy. We need to see as much as we can while there's still some light."

"I'll watch your show, Uncle Scooby."

The moment passed. Shaggy dropped his character. "See, this is what I was talking about, Scoob. Priorities."

"Rah." Scooby put the tomatoes and cheese on a cutting board while Shaggy fed the pasta into the pot without show.

Velma ran a finger over several surfaces as Fred and Daphne followed her. "For an abandoned anything, this place is awfully clean. I haven't seen one cobweb or build-up of dust, anywhere. An abandoned structure? In the woods? This place should be loaded with dirt, bugs, and rodents."

"And there's power to the equipment," Daphne motioned toward various switches and control boards with glowing LEDs and monitoring screens. "What do you think, Fred?"

"Looks like precedent for a trap, to me."

"Once again, we put together a fine meal. Once again, we're left to eat it." Shaggy and Scooby shared a look. "Not a bad thing!"

"Rah!" Scooby loaded his plate with as much as he could scoop from the pot. When he reached for the pasta sauce, Shaggy snagged the plate from him and slipped an empty one in front of him. "Thanks, Scoob."

"Ro roblem," Scooby looked down. "Rey!"

"You eating, Scrap?"

"Yes, Sir!"

Shaggy portioned off a small batch of spaghetti from Scooby's plate and dropped grated parmesan over it. "Here you go. Scooby has the sauce."

Scooby dropped his consternation to put sauce and three meatballs over Scrappy's pasta. There was being selfish, and then there was starving his nephew. Despite Scrappy's lack of interest in gluttony, he kept himself from crossing that line.

"Thanks, Uncle Scooby!" Scrappy motioned toward the corridor to the Control Center. "Those guys don't know what they're missing. Where are they, anyway?"

"Who cares? Dig in!"

In one synchronized movement, Shaggy and Scooby tucked into their food. Scrappy found a place to sit and enjoyed a meatball and bite of spaghetti before his ears pricked up. There was activity going on inside. He watched the corridor for some sign of Velma and Fred. Shaggy and Scooby completely ignored it.

"Boy, what a sunset. You know what would make this perfect?"

Shaggy and Scooby kept eating. Scrappy knew this mode well. He continued. "Music."

"Mmph." Shaggy nodded approval. Scooby gave a thumbs-up.

"I'll get the boombox." It was an excuse. His real goal was a flashlight, but he didn't need Scooby corralling him to the van or some Houdini escape situation. "_Nobody'd call it 'trouble' if they'd just let me help_," he thought. "_We'd solve these mysteries a hundred times faster_."

Scrappy made it back to the van, but discovered this day was one out of a million that Fred ever locked it. The lockout key was gone from its hiding spot behind the spare tire. He looked around for something to jimmy a lock, but found nothing thin or long enough to work. He turned back to the dam and heard Shaggy and Scooby scream. Darkness made it difficult to see anything from the parking lot, but Scrappy wasted no time running head-first into another fight.

"Hang on, Guys! I got ya!" Scrappy burst back onto the dam with fists ready to go. "Guys?" There was no sign of Shaggy or his uncle apart from the still-blazing camp stove and messy piles of overturned spaghetti on concrete. "Aw, you ruined dinner. Whoever you are; shame on you!"

A hollow moan issued from the direction of the Control Center. Scrappy spun on his heels to confront a floating masked figure dressed as a Modoc Native. "Ah! Surprise attack, huh? I can play that!" The figure raised its arms and floated toward Scrappy. The plucky pup ducked, weaved, and danced as if he took on Holyfield. "You're lucky my uncle left you for me! He'd turn you into hamburger!" Another hollow moan came from the ghost. "You're all talk! Give up now and maybe I'll go easy on you!" The ghost kept advancing on Scrappy. "You asked for it!" Scrappy threw two punches which hit cloth, and what felt like leaves. "Ha! Nice job padding yourself!" The ghost rose and tried back off, but Scrappy tackled it. "No getting away, Buddy! Take this!" He continued attacking the threat until he got enough of its costume off to find it full of sticks and leaves. It wasn't a ghost, but a scarecrow puppet.

"You just don't know when to go down, do you?" Scrappy panted from exertion, but composed himself for another attack. Bits of cloth and leaves lay around the scene and Scrappy could see it was just a puppet. That didn't stop him from continuing the fight. Another lunge landed awkwardly. The puppet snagged his collar, forcing Scrappy to take it off or choke. Escalating his effort to 'life and death,' Scrappy slipped free of his collar and tried to snatch it from the puppet. "My mother gave me that! Give it BACK!" He lunged for another tackle, but his efforts were thwarted when the dilapidated form flew upward; trying to lure him over the railing. The movement was too sloppy. A cable caught on an awning and sheared. The puppet tumbled over the railing into the reservoir. Scrappy watched it disappear with a few shiny glints from his collar as it sunk into the black water. He couldn't stop himself from a final taunt. "Serves you right for stealing! Today's takedown was brought to you by the letter S… FOR SPLAT!" He then left with a scrap of the costume, plus stuffing, to find Scooby and the gang.

"Guys! It's all fake!" He yelled. He heard them screaming somewhere in the powerhouse. "Guys? Where are you?" A glimpse of Scooby and Shaggy shadows miming full panic mode fluttered through the lights from the powerhouse. "Guys! Wait up!" Scrappy pushed himself into high gear to catch up with the gang. Unfortunately, he ran so fast, he lost his step and blundered into another ghost. "Alright you! Put 'em up!"

This ghost turned out not to be wrapped sticks and leaves, but a muscular corporeal being. One swift move with a headlock and canvas bag rendered Scrappy blinded and contained. "That's some grip for a ghost, Pal! You're lucky it's me and not my Uncle Scooby! He'd obliterate you!"

The ghost ran for a few moments, mumbled something unintelligible, and dropped Scrappy into a trash bin. He had a more important mission. Scrappy continued snarling challenges at the ghost until the only sounds he heard were screams from the gang growing faint. They were getting farther away.

Scrappy tossed himself against the sides of the bin until it tipped over, spilling him and its contents across a concrete landing. It looked over the powerhouse and main generators. "Guys! Hey! Guys!" Scrappy could still hear the gang, but their noises were quickly drowned out by sluice gates opening. He could hear thousands of gallons of water rumbling over spillways outside while other rumbles came from water rushing through penstocks and past generator turbines. The chilling fear of failure came over him. He left his post. The gang might be caught in the water. He had to stop it. Scrappy pulled himself from the litter and ran toward where he thought the Control Center was.

"Who turned on the waterworks?" Fred and Daphne finally caught up with Velma, Shaggy and Scooby, each distracted from their panic by the sudden volume of water rushing beneath the catwalk they stood on. "This can't be good," Daphne fretted. "Right! Forget the ghost! We have to get back up there." Three members of Mysteries Inc marched resolutely back the way they came. Shaggy and Scooby hung back. "Forget the ghost? I'd like to raise an objection, Fred."

"Guys…"

"Can't we vote on this?"

"Rah. Representation."

"Come on you chickens! We don't even have time for the Scooby Snack routine. Let's go!"

Shaggy winked slyly at Scooby while pretending to follow Fred. "There's always time for the secret stash!"

Scooby giggled. "Rah! Recret!"

A box of Scooby Snacks appeared from beneath his shirt before Shaggy flicked two toward Scooby's waiting mouth and two into his.

"Could we go now?" Velma's glasses did little to hide her facial expression.

Shaggy giggled nervously. "After you, Miss."

"Nice try." Velma collared Scooby and Shaggy and pushed them along the catwalk. "How did you even get those? I thought Daphne hid them all."

More giggles from Shaggy and Scooby. "Ramazon!"

"Prime! Hehehehahaha!"

Velma rolled her eyes.

Ahead, shocked yells broke out. "Scrappy!"  
"Do something Fred!"

Scooby and Shaggy shared a look. "Rappy?"

"Your nephew strikes again."

Scooby rushed ahead to find Fred using a long hooked pole to reach a small brown shape that was caught in a chute. It was inundated with water and hard to see, but one could make out ears, a tail, and a collar. Despite the water rushing past, it kept a frozen grip on the Doo family icon.

"RAPPY!"

"Hang on, Gang. I've almost got him."

Velma was caught between Shaggy holding himself back and Scooby nearly diving from the catwalk. "Hurry, Fred!"

Fred managed to hook the limp form and raised it into the air. Relief evaporated when water burst from vapor conduits overhead. Water crashed over the pole and dashed Fred's rescue efforts. The form broke free while the weight of the water forced Fred's last hope out of his hands. "No-no! NO!"

Daphne screamed.

"RAPPY! ROOOOOOOH!" It took all of Velma's strength to hold Scooby back. Shaggy threw arms around his neck to help restrain him.

All watched helplessly as the form of a face-down lifeless puppy roiled in the swirling currents for just a few seconds before gravity sucked him and countless gallons of water down the outflow flume. Scrappy Doo was gone.

Fred and Velma pushed through shock enough to make it back to the Control Center while Daphne remained with a grieving puddle of Shaggy and Scooby. Wordless, they worked the gate controls to dampen the flows and eventually get them stopped. Their cameras were gone. There were signs of a scuffle outside. Debris, sticks, leaves, and bits of cloth lay here and there. A loose cable dangled from a block and tackle not far from a railing overlooking the reservoir. Ripples over onyx water sparkled in shafts of moonlight slicing through clouds above.

"How many times we left him alone… We never should've… Scrappy…"

"Fred." Velma's few intelligent words of comfort scattered when she saw his face. Her glasses fogged from her own tears. She could do little more than hold him as his body quaked in sorrow.

Police lights flickered from three units pulled up around the Mystery Machine. Fred and Daphne spoke with Officer Keith Hurley while Shaggy and Scooby despondently cleaned up their camp stove and overturned spaghetti. Two other officers looked around the site with flashlights.

"I'm sorry, Miss. Say that again?"

"He's nearly three feet tall. Brown."

"Brown… Hair? Eyes? Skin?"

"Oh, his eyes are deep brown. Nearly black," Daphne added.

"And nearly three feet? Is he a child? Perhaps a little person?"

"No, he's young. Not quite a teenager yet."

"Okay. I think we've got it. Pre-teen, brown hair, brown eyes, approximately three feet tall. Do you know what he last wore?"

"A blue collar."

"Blue collar… Polo? Sweater? Jacket?"

"Dog collar."

"Excuse me?"

"He had a blue dog collar on," Daphne stepped forward. "With metal tags."

"This is a highly unique description." Keith cleared his throat and scratched his ear with his pen. "I'm sorry to ask, but was something going on here?"

"Wh-What? No." Fred flustered. "No-no-no."

"Scrappy Doo is a puppy," Daphne clarified. "He's a Great Dane."

"Oh," Officer Hurley furrowed his brow and closed his notebook. "I'm sorry, Ma'am. I'm afraid we can't allocate resources for a missing dog." He turned the two officers scanning the scene. "False alarm, Fellas." He made a cut-throat gesture at his cohorts. "Forget it."

"He's not a dog, Sir. He's family."

The two officers started walking back to their cars. Keith grimaced at Fred and Daphne. "People love their dogs, I understand…"

"Officer, please listen."

"I sympathize, truly. My wife and I have Salukis. They're amazing. They're _our_ kids. But this is simply not a police matter. I hope you find him. Don't stay out here all night. It's dangerous."

The gang watched the officers visit for a few moments before driving away. "Well, that was a whole lot of nothing," Shaggy grumbled and put the camp stove away. "Typical."

"I guess it's up to us, Gang." Fred looked across the lit spillway far below them. "It's not like we don't know where he went."

Velma's face lit in the glow from her tablet. "I've been doing some research on that. It says here that Modoc's hydroelectric penstocks put out 32,000 cubic feet of water per second. That's just what goes past the turbines. The sluice gates were also wide open. Considering the force and velocity we saw earlier, Scrappy went through the equivalent of going over Niagara Falls if it was compressed and fired from a cannon." Velma looked up at Shaggy. "I hate to say this, but with the physics involved, the chances of a body being left to find are miniscule."

Scooby collapsed into another puddle of grief. Shaggy moved to comfort him. "I'll never call you out for being smart, but you could stand to work on your bedside manner."

"I'm really sorry, Scooby." Velma's tablet went dark.

"We can't give up. Right Fred?"

"I don't know, Daph. There's a lot of river between here and Spears Lake. Plus, helicopters can't access parts of Clemmons Canyon. It's hard even for rock climbers to get through."

Daphne put her head into his chest. He embraced her in one arm. "It's too dark to do anything, now. Let's head back to Klamath Falls and figure things out in the morning."

"Guys?"

Scrappy fumbled his way through a dark corridor. He could see faint light coming from emergency exit signs and the occasional office window. The thunder of crashing water receded long ago, but he still couldn't hear the gang. Being lost didn't fluster him. It was when he found his greatest clues. "Ears up, eyes open," He told himself. "Puppy power."

Another hallway led to a door cracked open. The door read 'Security.' The office was well-lit from fluorescents above and several security monitors mounted on a wall. Several camera angles showed various parts of the dam; the generator wings, spillways, control center, access doors, the top of the dam, parking lot, and secured points nearby.

"This is perfect!" Scrappy climbed onto a stool before the monitors. "We should've come here first. You can see everything from here." His tail flew into an enthusiastic wag when he saw Scooby and the Gang talking near the Mystery Machine. He found a microphone in front of a nearby panel marked 'Public Address.'

"Guys! Hey guys!" Scrappy tried to use the mic. He flipped various switches trying to get Mysteries, Inc. to hear him. "Guys! Come here! Come see this!" Despite his efforts, Shaggy, Scooby, and Velma got into the van. Daphne and Fred talked privately and embraced for a few moments before getting in and starting the van.

"No. No-no! Guys! Wait!" Scrappy gave up on the mic and ran as fast as he could to catch the gang. "Guys!" The dim light in the hallways didn't do him any favors, plus he could barely remember the turns he took getting to the Security Office. Shadows fooled him and he ran into an obstacle which knocked a fire extinguisher free from its mount above him. Gravity took over.

After a fitful motel sleep, Daphne and Velma knocked at Shaggy and Scooby's door with no response. They found Shaggy at Waffle Hut, across the street. Uncharacteristic for him; he sat at a booth, minus Scooby, absently stirring a cold cup of coffee.

"How long have you been here?" Fred lined up behind Daphne as she slid into the booth. Velma scooted in from the other side. Seeing the table clean, with no crumbs or dirty plates was not lost on them.

"Ah, I dunno. An hour?"

Velma reached behind his back and tried to comfort him. Shaggy responded with a carefully draped arm over his ex's shoulder. Fred turned over a coffee cup for him and Daphne. "Where's Scooby?"

"Neither of us could sleep anymore. We decided to go for a walk, only I came here and he went the other direction."

"Poor Scooby."

"Good morning, everyone!" A cheerful middle-aged waitress buzzed over the the freshly-populated booth. "My name's Wanda. Can I get you anything? More coffee? Tea? Somethin' from the griddle?"

Shaggy sighed.

"May I have some Earl Grey?" Velma turned over her cup.

"Coffee is fine for us." Daphne nodded.

"Great! I'll bring over some fresh creamer and you can order breakfast when you're ready."

Shaggy waited for Wanda to move out of earshot. "Guys, what are we gonna tell his mom? She's gonna know somethin's up when he can't come to the phone. We're going to have to tell her."

"Maybe we don't have to."

Daphne's eyebrows shot up in shock at Velma. "Excuse me?"

Shaggy removed his arm from her shoulder and looked at her in disbelief.

"Guys, _it's Scrappy_. He gets lost all the time. He runs away. Cops aren't taking it seriously. We have no body. What if he just _ran away_? It's not as if there's proof he didn't."

"You have to be kidding, Velma," Fred massaged the bridge of his nose. "We all saw…"

"We all saw what? Cloth? A piece of wood? Carpet? We have no idea that was Scrappy. It just looked like him."

"Except for the collar."

"Piece of plastic."

Fred shook his head. "Velma, I can see what you're trying to do, but I'm completely shocked this is coming from you. I mean," he gestured, "_You_."

"I'm merely looking at consequences. Ruby Doo made us responsible for his care and safety. We failed. If we do what Shaggy's talking about, what do you think is going to happen? We could be sued off the face of the planet. We could go to jail for neglect. Abuse. Pick a charge."

Wanda came back to the table and Mysteries, Inc. asked for more time for their breakfast order.

"I'm just not okay with this," Fred sipped his coffee. "If we lie, we're no better than the crooks we turn over. We can't call ourselves Mysteries, Inc. anymore."

Shaggy looked down into his swirling mug. "Maybe it's time we take a break anyway."

"Break up?" Daphne searched everyone's faces. No one answered.

The door opened at the front of the restaurant. Scooby wandered in, looking grim. He made his way to the booth and the Gang.

"Scoob! Where've you been?"

Scooby slid into the booth next to Velma. He put Shaggy's cell phone on the table in front of them. "Ronecall."

Continue to Part Two.


	2. Chapter 2

Part Two

The events of the past nine days were enough to give anyone a strong headache, and Ruby Doo was no exception. First Scooby called saying Scrappy was missing after a dam accident. Then in the midst of swimming through grief while trying to arrange a leave of absence and airline tickets, she got a Skype call from her building's superintendent. Scrappy showed up at her apartment and was now waiting on a couch in Lorenzo Ciancio's office.

"Are you sure it's him?"

"Oh, absolutely, Ma'am. No one can forget that little menace… PUPPY, I mean. Would you like to speak to him?"

"Yes, please!"

Lorenzo covered the microphone and said something before calling Scrappy to his computer. "Mom?"

"What in the world happened to you!? Scooby called saying you went missing and there was some accident."

"What? No. They left me. Again!"

"Left you? Did you run off? I've told you time and again not run off! You listen to your Uncle Scooby! Do you have any idea what I've been through?"

"Mom, I did! THEY ran off! I went looking for them!"

"That doesn't sound right. Scooby would never just leave you."

"Your memory of Uncle Scooby is a little fuzzy, huh?"

"Don't get smart with me. You're in a lot of trouble."

"We're both in trouble. There's some weirdo in your apartment."

"That's Mr. Galbraith. He's my renter."

"What?"

"I'm teaching overseas. He is renting our apartment."

"So, you're not in New York?"

"No. I'm in Yangzhou, China. This call is costing Lorenzo a fortune."

"It's Skype, Ma'am," the Super answered. "It's okay."

"So, Mom? What do you think? Could I fly to China tomorrow or something?"

"Pffft! What?" Ruby giggled. "It doesn't work that way, Honeybear. You have to apply for a visa. The Chinese Government has to grant you permission to come here. You can't just show up. It could take six weeks or two months just to find out if they'll let you in the country. Then there's actually getting you here. I'm also staying in a tiny studio apartment. There's barely any room for you. I don't even have a television."

"I just got done living in a van, Mom. I just want to come home."

"A heads-up would've been nice. Unfortunately, I can't do very much from here. We're in the middle of a school year, so I can't just leave. You'll have to go back to your Uncle Scooby until I get back to New York."

"Mom…"

"Is there a problem? Did you get in a fight?"

"No, I just… I can't. I can't deal with them anymore."

"What happened to _I want to be just like my Uncle Scooby when I grow up_? What happened to _My Uncle Scooby is the greatest uncle ever_?"

Scrappy sighed when he couldn't come up with an answer.

"So, you got in trouble?"

"No. I mean yeah, sometimes, but…"

"But you found out you had to follow rules and you didn't like that."

"Mom…"

"Listen, Bub. You can't just do whatever you want. You were there by the virtue of your uncle's kindness and now he's absolutely sick about you. He thinks he lost you! He thinks you're dead! He and those kids are walking around a river looking for you. You don't have a choice. You _must_ go back to him and you _must_ apologize for running away."

"Isn't there anyone else? Like Grandma and Grampa?"

"No. They're on a cruise. And you can't go back to Yabba."

"I know. He and Dusty are in Belize."

"Right. Lucky dog… But let's not get off topic. This has to cost Mr. Ciancio some kind of money. We need to wrap this up. I'll call Scooby and wire cash for a bus ticket."

"Wait. What about Scooby Dee?"

"Dee? You're kidding, right? I wouldn't begin to know how to get ahold of Dee. Plus she's entirely too busy to look after a wayward pup. She's a movie star."

"How about Dum? Dixie? Whoopsy? Skippy? Dooby? Howdy? Horton?"

"Would you stop? _NO!_ No, no, no, and no. The last thing I need is some lecture from Horton, or Skippy, or _MOM_ about having babies I can't raise. I can already hear it now… No. I am not putting you with anyone else."

"Mom…"

"For. Get. It."

"You don't understand."

"Oh, I understand fully," Ruby paused for a thoughtful moment. "You may be right. You obviously need more authority in your life."

"Huh?"

"I can think of one other fellow I can put you with. He's a friend of your father's. But, you have to promise me you will do _precisely_ what he says. That means no running off, no talking back, no acting up, no fighting, nothing. Things will not go well for you if you screw up, this time. You think you can live with that?"

"What's his name?"

"His name is Beegle."

"He doesn't sound so bad."

"So, can I trust you not to call me in a week and tell me how horrible it is or run away again? Because I'm not doing this again. You need to stay where you're put and you need to BEHAVE."

"Yes, Mom."

"Okay. I'm going to go. I'll call back when I have an update. You be good with Mr. Ciancio. You put him through a lot, too."

"Yes, Mom."

Scrappy turned away from the computer to Lorenzo looking at him with an unbalanced grin. "I guess the shoe is on the other foot, huh?"

"I'm sorry?"

"C'mon! I got a job for ya!"

Within minutes, Scrappy was armed with trash bags, litter tongs, and a bucket of wet soapy rags. After so many careless escapades with Annie and Duke, now, he had to clean up everyone else's mess.

The Super pointed toward a dark grey dome attached to a nearby ceiling. "I'm watchin' you on those cameras. You screw around, I know. Got it?"

"Yes, Sir."

"Start at the top floor. Work your way down. If it's trash, pick it up. If it's dirty, wipe it up." He cracked open a can of beer and took a swig. "And don't forget the stairs."

Scrappy nodded and turned toward the lobby and its bank of elevators. "Don't even think about it, Mr. Puppy Power. You don't have lift privileges. You take the stairs. Then maybe you know what I went through when you and your friends shut down all the lifts."

"Oh, man." The door to the stairwell slammed shut behind him as Scrappy stared up through ten floors worth of steps and landings.

It took his mother several hours to call back. She had to get to a computer with outside Internet access. She settled on an off-campus cafe and a computer with a credit card terminal, since the campus library was closed for the night. She hadn't talked to Beegle in years and his old phone number no longer worked. It took several web searches to find a number that corresponded to him at the Boykin County Sheriff's Office. She still couldn't call him directly, but at least she made a little headway with someone who sounded like a clerk or receptionist. Beegle was out working a beat in Danesville. She was able to leave a message with an email address.

It was dark by the time the Super came to collect Scrappy. Despite Lorenzo's efforts at making him miserable, Scrappy was still somewhat perky after clearing many hallways of trash and grime. "I turned it into a game," He exulted, "I got 300 points so far."

"Whatever gets it done, Kid."

"Did my mom call?"

"Email… But yeah she did. You gotta' go. An Uber's coming."

Lorenzo took the bags of trash and bucket of rags from Scrappy. Scrappy turned for the stairs, but the Super stopped him. "You got no time. Take the lift… Wait!"

Scrappy paused. Lorenzo took a wallet from his back pocket and gave him forty dollars in twenties along with a folded-up slip of paper. Your mom sent some money so you can eat. You gotta' go."

Scrappy hit the lobby button and the elevator doors closed. The Uber was already waiting outside when he came out of the lobby. A bubbly woman in a light green Prius made small talk while wading through traffic toward the Port Authority bus terminals. "I guess I'm supposed to drop you off at Whippet. Are you traveling alone?"

"Nah," He lied. "My uncle is waiting."

"Oh, well, trips are always fun, right? Where are you going?"

He unfolded and looked over the paper that Lorenzo handed him with the cash. It was a list of directions, phone numbers, and a reservation number for a one-way bus ticket to Danesville, Tennessee. The bus was scheduled to leave in an hour. "Danesville?"

The Mystery Machine wound down Highway 1 through Corona Del Mar. It was well over a year since everyone saw home. Their normal level of excitement was dulled by fatigue and the end of their search for Scrappy. The only evidence of him they found were his collar and tags. These, as Velma predicted, washed over five miles beyond from the dam's spillway. Scooby made the discovery. The gang called the search at that point. They'd never find his body. Rather than think of things that may have happened to him, Fred and Daphne wove a small cross from nearby sticks and reeds and planted it in the rocks and grainy soil beside the place where his collar washed up. Whether spoken aloud or made in silence, everyone blessed it with a prayer. They figured once dam decommissioning is complete, the cross will wash away.

Fred took a memorial picture with his phone and saved it with GPS coordinates. They'd never return to the site, but at least they had one last record of Scrappy.

"A penny for everyone's thoughts?" Fred wanted to face the elephant in the van. "We're almost home."

"I can't figure out why my phone signal flakes out right before we get to Crystal Cove. I'm purely on WiFi right now."

"It could be the service angle of your carrier's transmitter. We might be right under it, which would make the signal hard to pick up."

"I meant about us," Fred frowned. "Is this just a break, or is Mysteries Inc. finished?"

Shaggy put his phone down, stretched, and leaned over the back of the front seat. Scooby picked up the phone. "I don't know if we want to call that right now. We're all tired, right?"

The rest of the gang nodded.

"Why don't we just chill for a while? Then see what we think."

"Time to see other people," Velma murmured.

"What?" Daphne blinked.

"I'm just saying that sounds a lot like, _let's see other people_."

Daphne fidgeted with the hem of her skirt. "You don't want to break up. Do you, Fred?"

"Not you and I…"

"I'm not saying we all stop being friends and stuff," Shaggy crossed his arms and hugged them closer to his perch. "I just think we need a break. Creatively. Isn't that what bands call it? When members leave to cut solo albums?"

"But are we ever coming back? Peter Gabriel never went back to Genesis."

Velma chucked, "Which one of us is Peter Gabriel?"

"Don't look at me. I'm Phil Collins!" Shaggy made a ta-dum-tish motion. The gang chuckled briefly.

"Shaggy is right. We need some fresh air." Fred glanced at Daphne. "You wanted to work on something, right Daph?"

"Mystery vlogs," She nodded. "Like a weekly vlog about a different mystery. What it was, where it was, who solved it, and how they figured it out."

"That sounds interesting," Velma lit up. "Let me know when you start your channel."

"What about you, Fred?"

"I've had a trap book on my mind for a while. You know, old stand-bys, design improvements, theories, applications. What do you want to do, Shag?"

"There's this online cooking school. I don't know if I'm going to do it or not. Just something I'm thinking about. I don't think anyone's unlocked the true culinary potential of extra cheese pizza with pickles."

Scooby drooled and licked his chops enthusiastically.

Scrappy nested himself in the window seat and watched the lights of Newark Liberty International Airport fade as the Whippet Coach found its stride on I-95. Cities eventually turned to towns and townships with more darkness in between. His mind troubled him. He rarely questioned his mother, but why would she just leave and never say anything? There was no goodbye visit. No phone call. Not even a text. If it takes six weeks to get permission to enter China, she knew she was leaving. She had enough time to get a renter.

"_She had no intention of saying goodbye_," He thought. "_She never wanted me back._" A lump grew in his throat. He couldn't figure out what he ever did to make her not want him around. Was he that much of a failure? An embarrassment? Or were Horton and Grandma right about having a baby she didn't want to raise?

"You look entirely too young to have whatever's on your mind."

Scrappy startled and looked around. Across the aisle and one row up sat a pierced and punkish Weimaraner who looked to be in her late teens. "I'm Alix. Where are you headed?"

"Scrappy. Danesville."

"Cool. I'm off at Knoxville." The silvery blue-eyed girl reminded him a lot of Flim-Flam. "My dad lives there."

"Is your mom trying to get rid of you, too?"

She giggled in surprise. "Not trying, that I know of. My Dad's a doctor. Mom wants me to go into medicine and she thinks living with him will _inspire_ me or some nonsense."

"What do you want to do?"

"Overthrow the government. Change social order. Eat the rich." She patted the neck of a guitar case covered in punk stickers. "Play on stage with Mickie Murder or at least be her roadie." She patted the seat next to her.

"Right on." Scrappy hopped over.

"What about you? What do you want to do?"

"I don't know anymore," Scrappy sighed. "I used to be really into detective stuff, but, I think I only got into it because someone I liked was into it."

"So you were into, like, tracking serial killers?"

"More just busting small-time chicanery. And some ghosts."

"Ah sweet! I love ghosts! There's this old abandoned children's hospital by where I used to live. Before it was a hospital, it was a tuberculosis sanatorium. That place was waaaay haunted. Me and my friends used to camp out there. We called it New Purgatory."

"You slept-over in an empty hospital?"

"Yeah! It was awesome."

"I didn't know anybody could do that."

"Well, you're not supposed to. We snuck in. The security guards never left the foyer, so we had full run of the place as long as they didn't hear or see us. One night, we dared this one really tough collie girl to spend the night in the old mental ward." The punk girl glanced around and moved in close to whisper, "She woke up SHAVED!"

"That's crazy!"

"I know, right?!"

The two shared potato chips, crazy ghost stories, adventures, and mysteries for a couple of hours before falling asleep.

Bright sunlight cut across the seats as the motor coach pulled into Atlas I-81 Travel Center for a fuel and food stop. Scrappy woke, sprawled across the row he shared the night before. Alix and her guitar case were gone. "What?" He shook himself more awake and looked around. "Are we in Knoxville?"

"Nope. Roanoke." An older Bedlington gentleman answered him. "A truck stop more specifically."

"Do you know what happened to Alix?"

"That girl?"

"Yeah."

"She got off in Hagerstown."

"She said she was going to Knoxville."

"Uh-oh," The Bedlington shook his head. "You might want to check your things."

Scrappy went back over to his seat and opened the shopping bag he got from the bus stop newsstand. His original purchase was a cold box lunch, some snacks, and a graphic novel. He also slipped the rest of his money in the novel since he didn't have another way to carry it. The bag was void of any trace of his belongings. Instead, it had a hoodie from a band named, GroupThink. Under it was a note on a torn half of a receipt. "It was nice to meet you, Scrappy."

"You gotta be kidding me!"

"Did she rip you off?"

"She left a hoodie. But nothing else."

"Sorry, Kid." The Bedlington looked sympathetic. "That's an old scam. She probably got on another bus to trick somebody else."

"What the heck? What am I supposed to do now?"

Continue to Part Three.


	3. Chapter 3

Part Three

The Bedlington waved Scrappy back to his seat. "I may be able to help. Do you like peanut butter?"

A large paw landed on Scrappy's shoulder. "Leave the kid alone, Farley." The bus driver, a dark grey pit bull named Magnus, stood just a foot behind him as he stared down the Bedlington. "I gotta' put up with your quirks, but he doesn't."

"I didn't do anything," Farley shrank.

"Keep it that way." Magnus looked down at Scrappy. "I understand there was a theft?"

"Yeah." Scrappy reached for the newsstand bag.

"Come on up front. I'll take a report."

The bus driver took Scrappy's statement and reported details back to base. Whippet had a rash of thefts over the past few months. Alix was one of several thieves working the routes. "These kids make a real haul, sometimes," Magnus explained. "They usually go after senior citizens, though."

"She seemed so nice," Scrappy's ears drooped.

"That's what they do. They get you to trust them and wait for a mistake." He could see Scrappy's embarrassment. He could also hear his stomach rumble. "We're about to leave. Have you had anything to eat?"

"No. My snacks are gone, too."

"Wow. That was cold." Magnus rifled through a canvas grocery bag and pulled out a few sticks of beef jerky. He handed two to Scrappy and opened one for himself. "It's not much, but this might get you by until we get to Knoxville. I know where you can get more of a meal, there."

To keep an eye on him, Magnus invited Scrappy to sit near the front of the coach. The beef jerky distracted his stomach enough to let him sleep. His only obstacle was the air conditioning being especially strong in the front seats. Scrappy covered up with Alix's token hoodie. It smelled like her. He felt weird about it, but it was better than freezing. He wondered what that Bedlington had in mind. Magnus was tight-lipped about it.

Magnus wove his way along the Appalachians to his next stops in Wytheville and Bristol. Sleep was fitful and uncomfortable. It was strange he could sleep so soundly with a girl he only knew for an hour, but not alone on the same seats. Passengers got on and off. Farley silently vanished somewhere between Bristol and Fall Branch, but Scrappy lost track by then.

Magnus pulled into the Whippet bus terminal in Knoxville and thanked everyone for their patronage. The next bus driver was Smokey, a pointer. Magnus handed off the trip and walked through the terminal until he disappeared behind a door marked 'Drivers.' The pointer was unaware of Scrappy's misfortune and brushed him off by telling him to sit down. "We're on a schedule, Son."

"That which doesn't kill me," Scrappy grumbled.

"Come again?"

"It's a quote. That which doesn't kill me makes me stronger."

"That which doesn't get us down the road makes us late. Have a seat."

A few days ago, Scrappy wouldn't think twice about challenging the driver or even getting himself kicked off the bus. His complete focus for the past nine days was getting back home with his mother and friends. He could easily distract himself from fatigue or hunger knowing where his efforts led. This time, there was no goal. His mom was on the other side of the world. There was no sign of Annie or Duke. He would've been happy even to stay with them. He needed a serious break before continuing with Mysteries, Inc. He had nowhere else to go and no idea what was ahead. Apart from being frustrated with Smokey and Magnus, Scrappy was completely void of motivation.

Shaggy put up with his phone troubles for all of two days before trading up. He planned to keep his old number for a week or two for any second thoughts from the Gang or callbacks from Ruby. Neither happened. The only calls coming in were from his VoIP account and that was primarily for family when he was home. He gave up on Mysteries, Inc. a few days later when the Rogers' skater neighbor Kip 'Kickflip' Kendall told him Fred hired on at Beach Break Sport and Skate. Velma was next to drop out by taking on work as a Mail Room Assistant at Darrow University. Another week passed and Daphne reunited with her old friend Wendy. She started volunteering with her charity organization, Wings over Newport.

"Well, I guess that's it, then." Shaggy set his laptop on the kitchen table and powered it on. "Cooking school it is."

To Scrappy's relief, his bus ride with Smokey was short. An hour and three quarters plus three stops down I-40 brought the Whippet Coach to the Danesville station, which wasn't even a bus station, but a DaneWay Market parking lot on the outskirts of town. Over the course of the ride, the weather changed from pleasant partly-sunny skies to thick dark cloud cover. Humidity misted-up the coach windows until rain poured relentlessly. Passengers disembarked and either bolted toward waiting cars, ducked into the grocery store, or ran across the street to Labrador Inn Motel. Anyone who wanted to go farther into town had to wait for public transit. Not knowing what was going to happen next, Scrappy pulled the hoodie over his ears, held his newsstand bag over his head, and dove into the rain.

A red crew cab pick-up flashed its brights and pulled forward as he tried to run for the grocery entrance. "Scrappy?" He could see a white muzzle with a black nose speaking to him through the driver's side window while keeping behind the rain spattering against the door. "Hop in!" Scrappy darted for the passenger side and climbed in. Alix's hoodie was already wet. "I'd be out there waiting for you, but I already had a bath today."

"Sorry about the wet seat, Sir."

"Water's not the worst thing I've had in this truck. Don't worry about it." Beegle chuckled. "Gotta' love a free truck wash, right?" He reached across the console for a handshake. "Call me Beegle."

"Nice to meet you."

"Do you have bags?"

"This is all that's left," Scrappy flashed a corner of the wet newsstand bag.

A look of concern formed on Beegle's face. "What happened?"

"I got ripped off on the bus. I mean I didn't have much to begin with, but… Yeah."

"Wow. I'm really sorry." Beegle paused. "Do you need anything from the store?"

"I don't have money to buy anything."

"We'll figure that out later then," Beegle took his foot from the brake and followed the Whippet coach out of the parking lot. It climbed an onramp back to I-40, while Beegle continued under the overpass and out of town. The rain-soaked Tennessee landscape turned rural fast. Scrappy caught glimpses of farms, barns, pastures, and workshops among groves of trees and rolling hills.

Scrappy looked his new guardian over. "I thought you lived in Danesville."

"Oh, no. Danesville a little too high-rent for me. I'm out in Bluetick. The busses don't go that far South."

"So, you're in BFE?"

Beegle took a moment to navigate the truck around a tight curve while avoiding a deep pothole. "I'm not familiar with the term."

"Butt-Scratch, Egypt," Scrappy edited himself.

"Well, there's Cairo, over in Sumner County. We're nowhere near there. That's North of Nashville."

"So, what's Bluetick like?"

Beegle took a moment to come up with something pleasant. "It's a quiet place. Not much action, but we look out for each other."

The rain lightened. Beegle's pickup rounded a few more curves and summited a ridge that overlooked a charcoal, yellow, brown, and blue lake with an island near one end. He lingered at the ridge and made an expansive gesture. "Presenting Lake Grace."

Scrappy picked up an eerie vibe as he gazed at the lake.

"When I was growing up, this was _the_ place. It was beautiful. Greenish-cobalt blue water with thick cattails near the shore. The fish weren't shy. Neither were the crawdads. You could get a boat, get lost, and just live out there."

"What happened?"

"The lake died. It's polluted and acidic. There's an old lumber mill and defunct mine in the hills at the East end. Clear-cutting already set those hills up for mudslides, but the mine had tailing ponds that weren't built to withstand everything that rolled into them. It all collapsed into the lake. Nobody believed anything that bad could happen. Engineers figured it out, but after folks learned, it was more important to have jobs."

"Is there any way to fix it?"

"Time is the only way, I think. Every so often we get researchers out here who measure things, run tests, write notes, and then leave. If there was something to do, I'm sure somebody would've done it."

Beegle let his foot off the brake and started rolling West. "Just a warning, though. If the feeling ever moves you to jump in that lake; talk yourself out of it. The water is toxic."

"Okay." Scrappy's stomach growled loudly.

Beegle glanced and smirked. "You hiding a lion under that shirt?"

"I haven't had much to eat."

"There's a fix for that. Let me introduce you to a friend of mine."

Rain stopped and clouds broke from shafts of sunlight as the pickup reached the edge of Bluetick. There was very little to mark the place. A small faded billboard stood by the side of the road. Its original message was "Bluetick: Tennessee's Bounty." Someone crossed out 'Bounty' and wrote 'Mange.'

Bluetick's main street featured several old brick shops with apartments above and mixed-use buildings that looked as if they were built between 1910 and the 1940's. Aged fenced-in maples, cherry trees, and tulip poplars shaded and separated the faded blacktop from old stone benches and cracked sidewalks. Rusted metal awnings hung over shop windows, both open and papered-over or blacked out. Painted ghost signs above the shops gave away what used to be there: Barker's Confectionery, Arlene's Fine Meats, Opey's Music, Main Street Barber, Bluetick Boot and Tack, Buck & Fern's, Union Pharmacy and Sundries, Cardinal Finance, and Mabel's Bridal Gallery. Augie's Hardware took up the biggest stall on the block. A dachshund washing windows paused to wave at Beegle as he passed by. The two shared a friendly grin.

An eclectic diner, converted from an old Gulf service station, stood at the end of the block. Instead of 'GULF,' its painted-over signs read, 'Angie's Country Kitchen.' Pump aisles, dug up long ago, became outside seating sheltered under the triangular pump station roof and two blue and green shade sails. Magnolia trees, large steel water troughs brimming with bright perennials, and gardenia hedges bordered the outdoor seating from the parking lot. Service bays, behind windowed roll-up doors, made up the indoor dining area. Each bay was festooned with artifacts from the gas station, along with old photographs, country kitsch, and flotsam from Bluetick's heyday.

The first smells to reach Scrappy's nose were Angie's batter-fried chicken and buttermilk biscuits. His stomach was ready to leap through his skin at the thought of it. Much to his torture, Beegle took his time straightening his shirt, ears, and collar before strolling to the diner door.

"Afternoon, Sheriff." A smallish tan water spaniel in her early teens greeted them in the vestibule.

"DeeJay? You're hosting today?"

"Sandy's at lunch," DeeJay picked and stacked two menus, "Mom has me here until she's back."

"Just so you're not shirking school."

"Please. I'm already set to graduate two years early."

"Hard to believe with your proclivities."

"Some people call that independent study."

"Um-hum. Potatoes. Tomatoes."

DeeJay shot Beegle a side-eye before shifting gears. "Would you both like a booth? I have the garden spot by the corner… _Way over there._"

"That's perfect," Beegle matched her with mock graciousness. "Thank you."

Scrappy followed Beegle and DeeJay in stunned silence to the corner booth. A few other diners stopped between bites and conversations to greet the Sheriff. Beegle shook paws when offered and engaged in friendly bits of chit-chat on his way to the booth. Scrappy couldn't believe this guy was law enforcement. There wasn't a single part of Beegle that made him think 'Sheriff.' He didn't remember that the same could be said for Deputy Dusty, since Uncle Yabba clearly represented courage and leadership between the two.

DeeJay showed them to their booth. She looked Scrappy over for a moment as she filled their water glasses and smirked when he noted it. "We have our chicken and sweet potato brownies on special today. Mom should be by in a minute." She turned and left before Beegle could say anything else to her.

"You'll have to pardon DeeJay. Our goodwill is a bit strained."

"Are you really a Sheriff?"

"Yeah. I've served Boykin County for several years."

"That's awesome! I used to live with Deputy Dusty and my Uncle Yabba. They were in Tumbleweed, Texas. I tried to find them before I went home."

"Your mom told me you made quite a trip. Oregon to New York? By yourself? How'd you do that?"

"Oh… Um," Scrappy eyes searched around the booth for a few seconds. "I probably shouldn't talk about that to a Sheriff."

"Breaking the law?"

"I stowed away. In a boat that was on a trailer. It was called the 'Crystal Cove,' so I thought, 'Great! It's going to California!' My Uncle Scooby was going there. But then it went to Corpus Christi, and I got a ride in a truck to Tumbleweed. The place used to be a dot in the middle of nowhere. Tiny little town. Big skies. Armadillos. Dust devils. The biggest thing about that place was the railroad. But when I got there, it was completely different. There were oil and gas drills all over the place. And trucks! Water trucks. Sand trucks. Chemical trucks. Hydraulic stuff. There were so many trucks. It went from being a dot to being a factory. So, I tried to find Yabba and Dusty, but they were long gone. Their cabin and barn were gone. Their land had well pads on it and 'keep out' signs. I had to ask around, but finally found somebody who told me they got rich and moved away. A bunch of our old friends got rich and left. Dusty and Yabba are in Belize. I don't know how to get there, but Mr. Robbins was still at the General Store. I got some money from him and bought a train ticket to Chicago. From there, I caught a Norfolk Southern to New York."

"That's a lot of stowing away. I'm amazed you didn't get caught."

"Oh, I got caught plenty," Scrappy smirked. "But I'm a puppy. People think I'm a pet or a stray. That's how I got food and places to sleep. All had to do was keep my mouth shut and wag my tail until I got to the next place. Then split."

"Huh," Beegle looked impressed. "I take it that wasn't your first time."

"No." Scrappy frowned and looked down. "You have no idea how often I got left somewhere. Mom wanted to send me back, but I just… _No_. You know? I'm tired of them. I tried to help all the time and they all treated me like I was a pain, or an afterthought, or I had to be locked in the van because '_It's too dangerous,_' or '_You need a time-out._' I hate that stupid van. Plus, Uncle Scooby never stood up for me. We're family! Aren't you supposed to stand up for your family?"

Beegle threaded his paws together and leaned his forearms on the table. He spoke in a quieter voice to cool Scrappy down. "It depends on the circumstances."

Scrappy's muzzle tightened in a momentary snarl before he shook his head and looked back at Beegle's empathetic face. "Okay then. _Why_?"

"Your uncle's their pet, right? There's politics and a tap dance that go into that. He knows that, so he's not going to challenge his people unless they do something bad to you. Like really bad. Otherwise, something bad could happen to him."

"That is such bunk."

"Yeah. It is bunk. We don't all have our own legal personhood."

"How do you get that?"

"Go to school. Prove you can handle yourself. Get a job. Own property. Live someplace where we don't have to be pets."

"Like here?"

"Exactly."

Beagle glanced over Scrappy's shoulder and smiled warmly to an aproned reddish-tan Water Spaniel mix approaching the booth. "Sweetheart."

"Hiya, Beegle," She spoke in a stronger southern drawl compared to Beegle. He took her paw as she leaned in for a brief kiss. Golden brown eyes twinkled at Scrappy.

"You're Beegle's new charge?"

"Scrappy, this is Angie."

The two shook paws briefly. "Welcome to our town. It takes some gettin' used to but we're all neighbors, here."

"Thank you, Ma'am," Scrappy ditched his mood to grin at her.

"What can I get you fellas?"

"Your chicken smells out of this world."

"Why, bless you, Hon! It's one of my specialties."

"You ought to try one of her meat pies. People come all the way from Shepard's Hook for those."

"That's because the only thing in Shepard's Hook is a fill station," DeeJay snarked.

"Darla Jo, you hush," Beegle rebuked her gently. "Don't give your mother a hard time."

"Yes, Officer." DeeJay refilled someone's sweet tea at a table farther away.

Angie shook her head, "Just tell people you have teenagers, they know exactly how y'are."

Her line wasn't as funny to Scrappy, but he chuckled along with Beegle to be polite.

"So, may I fix ya' with a basket of chicken?"

Scrappy nodded enthusiastically.

"Sounds like the flavor of the day, Angel."

Ruby looked up from grading assignments to check her phone. "Bizarre," She thought. She texted Shaggy and Scooby better than a day ago and no one replied with so much as an emoji. Surely, they wanted to know Scrappy was okay, especially if they were still looking for him. This wasn't the first time he ran off. She figured the silence was due to being angry, and she didn't blame them. Sending her kid back to Scooby might not work, anyway. If he's this mad, he'd just ricochet Scrappy back to New York. At least Lorenzo came through, even if it was only to get her 'little menace' out of his hair.

Sandy came back from lunch which gave DeeJay a chance to disappear. Plates, sides, beverages, and a basket of chicken arrived by way of Hanna Mae; a chocolate poodle. She was also friendly with the Sheriff, but it was over their shared interest in the Vols.

The chicken tasted even better than Scrappy expected. It was nothing for him to finish most of the basket. Beegle worked over a crispy breast and let Scrappy eat his fill. He noticed Scrappy studying him a few times. "Something on your mind?"

"I was just trying to figure out your connection to my mom."

"Your dad and I grew up together. We were pals from the time we were knee-high to a baby goat, all the way through high school."

"Serious? You knew my dad?"

"Diamond? Absolutely!"

"This is amazing! I always wanted to know more about my dad. Tell me everything!"

Beegle laughed and cleaned up with a napkin. "That's a tall order, Kid. We had a lot of years together."

To be Continued.


End file.
